


Point of Trust

by thefutureisequalaf



Series: I Like My Name When You Say It [4]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Bondage, Dom Lena Luthor, F/F, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, POV Second Person, Sub Kara Danvers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefutureisequalaf/pseuds/thefutureisequalaf
Summary: The room is silent but for her breathing and yours. You don’t think you’ve ever been so still in your life. You aren’t relaxed – it takes tension to stay unmoving under that sharp touch – but there’s something intimate in the stillness and the trust.Gentle knifeplay. No cutting, no threatening, simply a sharp point and trust. Did I mention trust?





	Point of Trust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sharp](https://archiveofourown.org/works/567957) by [thingsarequeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsarequeer/pseuds/thingsarequeer). 



> This falls squarely in the DO NOT TRY THIS WITHOUT DOING YOUR HOMEWORK category. It's more likely that a fanfiction writer is exploring a fantasy than that they are an expert.
> 
> Kara's POV.
> 
> Excerpted from a (much) longer work that might never get done.

The lights are down, the candles are out, and you’re bound against the door in an X. There’s an incongruity to being bound standing. You feel an equality in being in the same position she is, fully upright and eyes level, yet she’s free and you can barely wriggle. When she takes your neck and kisses you, your instinct is to meet her forceful tongue with your own. She kisses back harder, kisses like there’s going to be a winner. Even with the weak Kryptonite, you’re still stronger than her, so you moderate yourself to a human level and enjoy as she conquers your mouth.

She pulls back with a dark gaze and palms your bare breasts. “You’re mine, little bird, and I’m going to prove it to you.” She takes a knife and slices off your panties, the last stitch of clothing on your body. She doesn’t put the blade down.

It was you who’d suggested it. You’d been daydreaming about the feather, remembering the moments between tickling when she just traced the point over your skin. The way it grazed over your sensitive spots was just on the pleasant side of painful. You’d brainstormed other ways to get that feeling without the tickling.

At the thought of a knife, your blood froze. A knife would have a harder and sharper point than the feather, which might feel better. On the other hand, the Kryptonite would make you vulnerable. She could cut you if her hand slipped or you twitched at the wrong moment. It would take all your trust to let her use one on you.

You knew she’d love it.

In typical Lena fashion, the knife she brought home one day was a thing of beauty. It was a small fixed-blade knife, about the size of a large opened pocket knife, with a silver handle and a sapphire in the pommel. One edge was entirely blunt and the other up to the last quarter inch; from there to the point, it was razor sharp. You’d lost your breath when you felt the honed edge. _That_ was going to be against your skin.

Now, you watch that point descend to your chest. It rests between your breasts and stays there. You hold your breath, afraid to move against that razor point. She’s gazing into your wide eyes, looking far more confident than you expected. She must’ve practiced on herself, you realize.

The point moves, following the handle of the knife upwards. You start breathing again, though softly. It trails up to the base of your neck, then lifts away. “Can you close your eyes, Kara?” She asks.

You can and do, for now. What is a little more trust when you’re already letting her use a blade? The next touch is a brush of the point on your cheek. You picture her, probably holding it like a pen, as she traces circles and figure-eights like an artist. It’s barely there over the side of your face, a little sharper over your cheekbone. There are moments when it starts to sting, but the pressure always lightens immediately. She whispers the point around the lower arc of your eye socket – Rao, she could blind you in an instant – and then a little harder down the length of your nose. You twitch when it reaches the tip and you realize it’s the first movement you’ve made since she first touched you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so still in your life. You aren’t relaxed – it takes tension to stay unmoving under that sharp touch – but there’s something intimate in the stillness and the trust. The room is silent, but for her breathing and yours. You could get used to this.

The point reappears against your jaw and follows the line to your chin, then traces under it. You know where it’s going, and you open your eyes. You have to see her for this. She glances up at you and you give her the minutest smile of your life, but it’s enough. The tip of the knife moves to your throat.

When you’d talked, you realized that you really don’t know if removing the Kryptonite would be enough to close an artery. You know she’s no more likely to slip here than anywhere else, but it’s still different. She tilts the knife to keep the sharpened edge away from your skin, then moves slowly down your throat to test your reaction. To the relief of both of you, you stay calm and still. She tilts the blade level again and begins tracing patterns with the point. When it skims your pulse, you go rigid. It takes all of your trust to stay with her in the moment, and you’re glad. She leaves the point there, though she angles the blade to prevent it from applying pressure, and leans in to place the faintest ghost of a kiss on the corner of your mouth. _“I’m so proud of you.”_

You don’t think you’ve ever felt more possessed by her.

She lets your neck be, after that, and moves on to your shoulders and front. She smiles, now, and you can tell she wants this part to be fun. As you feel the point trace the base of your breast, you wouldn’t quite call it that, but you like it. The point of the blade climbs up and orbits your nipple, and then the cool flat of it brushes circles on the tip. It lifts away. Even though you know what must be next, the barely-there brush of the point on the tip of your nipple makes your breath hitch and your back arch. The point lifts to follow your movement, as though she expected it. The blade trails to your other breast, repeats the same acts, and your reaction is more subdued. You like it even more, though.

As the tip weaves down your sternum, you just know she’s going to trace the lines of your abs. She does, and you smile together. “Enjoying, little bird?”

“Very much, Miss Luthor. Thank you.”

She brings the blade back under your chin and presses ever so lightly. You obey and tilt your head. Her lips brush yours and she kisses you, starting small and growing more intense. The blade moves with your mouth but never leaves. When she finally pulls back and lowers the knife, you are in awe. “That was incredible, Miss Luthor.”

She smiles, lowers her eyelashes, and licks the flat of the blade. All of you clenches at the sight. She returns to your abs and traces them again, then trails the point down to where your leg meets your groin. She runs the point down and up that curve. You’re not aroused yet, but just knowing that it’s so close to you…

She sets the knife aside. You almost whine in disappointment, but you know she has other, equally sensual plans to continue where she left off. You close your eyes again and sigh with contentment.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! As always, I love to hear your comments :)


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